Mr Watson, Anatomy Department
by Wholocked.613
Summary: Mr. John Watson is intrigued by a mysterious student in his sixth-form anatomy class. When the teenage Sherlock Holmes becomes his new lab assistant, Mr. Watson takes the opportunity to give the boy private lessons. Teacher!John Student!Sherlock AU, Johnlock, teacher/student relationship, graphic slash, rated M.
1. First Day of Class

**John's POV**

John Watson walked through the open classroom door, taking his place at the front of the room.

Thirty sixth-forms stared back at him, from the most anxious teacher's pet (pen in hand, trembling with anticipation) to the utterly apathetic (already half-asleep, head lolling suspiciously to one side). He had seen them before. Well, not _these _onesin particular, but they were all the same, really. The same pettiness, the ignorance, the inability to think for themselves. And at what was _supposed_ to be one of the top prep schools in London. It was disappointing, really.

"You have no one to blame but _yourself_ into this," he thought to himself moodily. Two years ago, upon returning from Afghanistan, John thought that maybe mundane would be good. He knew he didn't want to be an army doctor anymore, and his extensive familiarity with the human body made teaching secondary-school anatomy an obvious choice. But what at first had seemed quaint quickly became crushingly dull.

He scanned the room, trying to determine what sort of shenanigans he would have to put up with _this _term. The mousy boy sporting thick-lensed eyeglasses, the dolled-up blonde whose uniform skirt was hiked several inches above regulation, the diamond-earring studded rugby star… John's eyes flitted over them all, before coming to rest on a tall, slender boy near the back of the room.

John would have missed him if it hadn't been for the young man's translucent skin, seeming almost to glow from beneath a crown of jet-black curls. His eyes lingered on his student's stunningly prominent cheekbones, before coming to rest on a pair of delicately sculpted pink lips. Breathing suddenly seemed irrelevant as he finally met the boy's gaze, finding himself totally transfixed by the most unearthly icy-grey stare. The obvious scrutiny with which the boy's eyes pierced his own left John feeling utterly exposed, as if his every secret had been extracted in a single glance. Whatever else the boy was, John knew at that moment that he would be _far _from dull.

Realizing the classroom's silence had long since become uncomfortable, John cleared his throat abruptly, tearing his eyes from their hypnotizing subject and shaking himself back to the present moment. He turned on his heel and made his way to the chalkboard, writing "Mr. Watson" in big, block letters.

"Hello there," he finally greeted them, "My name is Mr. Watson, and I'll be your anatomy teacher for this term. Anatomy is not an easy subject, but if you work hard, I promise I won't fail you." Nervous chuckles from around the room. John smiled stonily and continued, "Now, for our first lesson, I'd like to begin wi—"

"Excuse me, Mr. Watson, sir," a deep, bold voice reverberated from the back of the room, "but will we be studying any _practical _anatomy this term?" John's gaze found the source of the question: the mesmerizing, curly-haired boy from the back of the room.

"Well," John replied, frowning slightly, "all anatomy is _practical, _in some form or another. It's important to a whole range of fields and professions, and—"

"You misunderstand me, sir," the boy interrupted once again. "By _practical _anatomy, I mean to say… _Hands-on _work_. _You know, experiments… _dissections._" Though his tone was macabre, his pale face shone with indisputable sincerity.

John stood speechless, mouth slightly agape… Until noticing the other students' exasperated sighs, rolled eyes, and dirty looks, all pointed in the boy's direction. Apparently, the young fellow already had quite the reputation among his classmates.

"I have an assortment of labs planned for this term, though none of them involve actual experiments to the human body, nor dissections. I'm afraid that at your level, those kinds of studies are considered rather inappropriate. Though I wholeheartedly agree that hands-on work is the best way to learn, and I'd be happy to supplement our course with more stimulating material…" He glanced back at the boy, only to see him breathe a subtle sigh and raise his gaze to the ceiling.

"What did you say your name was?" John blurt out, his own curiosity getting the better of him.

"Holmes, sir," the boy drawled, eyes still fixed on some distant point high above him. "Sherlock Holmes."

"Sherlock Holmes," John repeated unthinkingly, savoring the way the unusual combination of sounds rolled off his tongue. He shook himself once again, clearing his throat and nodding curtly. "See me after class."


	2. The Consequences of Smoking

**John's POV**

The bell had rung, and the rest of Sherlock's classmates were filing out the classroom door. The young man fell back, making his way instead to the laboratory's back room.

"You wanted to see me, Mr. Watson, sir?" the boy asked as he approached his teacher's large wooden desk. Sherlock's deep voice was sensual by nature, yet entirely devoid of emotion. John looked up abruptly, pretending as though he _hadn't _been watching the young man walk the entire length of the room from the corner of his eye.

"Ah yes, Holmes, very good," he spoke, feigning nonchalance. "So, you're interested in more… erm… _hands-on _work in human anatomy, if I understand correctly?"

"Very much, sir," Sherlock replied, his tone eager but his delicate lips curling into a definitive smirk.

"Well, I _do _need a lab assistant," John continued, finally meeting the boy's piercing gaze. Sherlock was infinitely more impressive close-up: the combination of his angelic features with a fierce, steely gaze yielded a kind of intoxicating, otherworldly beauty, the likes of which John had never seen. It was all he could do not to let his eyes wander to the patch of pearly white skin visible beneath his student's open collar button… He cleared his throat noisily for the third time that day, suddenly terribly occupied by the shuffling of papers on his desk. "We'll see if we can't work something out."

Sherlock strode away wordlessly, only to stop in the doorway.

"Sir?" he called back.

"Yes, Sherlock?" John replied, a touch overeager.

"Iraq or Afghanistan?"

John simply sat, dumbfounded.

"Just wondering," the teenager said teasingly, gracing John with his first genuine smile of the entire class period. He winked, and was gone.

* * *

**Sherlock's POV**

He had been summoned to the headmaster's office. Again. For smoking on school grounds. Again.

Rules without object or justification were meant to be broken, and his school's ban on smoking was just that. Besides, the chance of his classmates' suffering any adverse effects of _his _choice to consume nicotine was statistically insignificant. Obvious.

Cigarettes helped him to think, which is why he didn't often feel the need to smoke any while at school. His anatomy class, however, had proved to be an anomaly in that department. He often felt the need to think long and hard about particular aspects of the course, though surprisingly, not the coursework itself… Rather, certain, unfamiliar _feelings _he had been having. And their relationship with a certain Mr. Watson.

The assistant headmaster strode into the stuffy office, breaking his train of thought. A plump woman in a purple, cashmere sweater, she plopped into the chair in front of him with a rush of breath. A patch of crumbs near her collar indicated that her trip to the break room had been for the sole sake of few leftover Christmas cookies, and her heavy breathing combined with the telltale outline of a cigarette pack in her coat pocket told him she was a smoker herself. Irony at its finest. Sherlock snorted softly and looked away.

"Well, Sherlock, what will it be this time?" she demanded impatiently, flipping through a significant stack of manila folders. "Custodial services? Grounds maintenance?" She glared up at him pointedly. "Lavatory sterilization?"

As one of London's top preparatory academies, Sherlock's secondary school chose to assign service to the institution as an alternative to detentions, suspensions, and the like. Last time he had wound up collecting cigarette butts, consoling himself with the fact that at least the punishment fit the crime. This time, however, he had other plans.

"Do there happen to be any… Laboratory assistant positions that need filling, ma'am?" he questioned, feigning innocence. The assistant headmaster glared at him with increasing suspicion.

"There are," she finally replied. "Mr. Smith, physics department. Ms. Tyler, over in organic chemistry…"

"Is that all?" Sherlock queried impatiently.

"I've got one more request, it's just in…" she continued, drawing a third sheet from the far corner of her desk. "Looking for a laboratory assistant. It's a… Mr. Watson, anatomy department."

And for the second time that week, Sherlock smiled.


	3. A Supplementary Lesson

**John's POV**

"Hello, Mr. Watson," Sherlock greeted cheerily. The boy had been working as John's assistant for a little over a month since the beginning of the year, and now spent little of his free time outside the whitewashed walls of the anatomy lab. Just the way John liked it. His desire for change, for renewed excitement, had all but disappeared; Sherlock's impressive powers of observation, keen wit, and genius intellect was more than enough to keep him on his toes. Not to mention the glances John stole over petri dishes and microscopes…

"Hello, Sherlock," John replied, smiling warmly up at his protégé. Sherlock began wiping down the lab tables, whistling jauntily as he did so. If John didn't know better, he would say Sherlock was happier when working than he ever seemed to be in class.

"You know, sir," the boy started again, "I'm really enjoying this week's lesson." John was busy staring at the young man's cheeks flushed from effort, the way the muscles in his arm bulged delectably as he scrubbed.

"Yes," he replied, not bothering to look away. As observant as the boy was, John knew by now that all indication of human attraction was utterly lost on him. Suddenly, he blinked, finally taking in Sherlock's words. "This week's lesson… You mean to say… Human r-reproduction?" John faltered.

"That's _exactly _what I mean," Sherlock answered, stopping his work for a moment to look pointedly at his teacher.

"Er… But… W-what do you like about it?" John finally managed to stammer. He could feel his cheeks burning.

"What I found _most_ interesting," the teenager continued, abandoning his work completely and instead walking slowly, _seductively,_ in John's direction, "were the physical symptoms of attraction. I never knew there was a way to tell by simple _observation _that one finds another sexually attractive." The way Sherlock drew out that penultimate word caused John's breath to hitch in his chest. He felt not as much blood rushing to his face now, but rather certain… Nether regions.

Sherlock chest was now inches from John's. He locked his gaze with his teacher's, for so long that John found himself getting lost in their icy grey mists. When the boy finally broke his stare, it was to look down… Directly at John's definitively tented trousers.

"The signs include," Sherlock began again, so close John could feel his student's peppermint breath on his face, "flushed cheeks," (looking pointedly at John's face), "dilated pupils," (his gaze flicking from eye to eye), "and in men, a flow of blood to the pen—"

His last word died on his lips as John's crashed into them. Fingers moving to grasp his pupil's jet-black curls, he moved his mouth against Sherlock's with passionate urgency. Sherlock stood rigid, shocked, until John's gentle sucking at his bottom lip seemed to undo him. He melted into the kiss, the heat of his chest pressed tightly against the older man's. John's tongue pleaded for entry, and the boy let it, moaning involuntarily as he allowed his teacher to explore every crevice of his open mouth. Their tongues collided, wrestled, caressed… John felt the boy's body tremble beneath his. He broke away from the kiss, breathing heavily, suddenly struck by the utter _indecency _of his actions.

"Sherlock," he panted, voice thick and gravely from desire, "I'm sorry—I shouldn't have… I'm terribly sorry, please—"

"No," the boy spoke. John whirled back to face him, shocked. His pupil stepped forward, placing one pale, long-fingered hand lightly on his teacher's chest. Sherlock's breath was fast but his touch was steady; he reached his remaining hand upwards, taking the older man's cheek in his icy palm. John could feel the boy's heart beating franticly as their chests all but met. Sherlock leaned forward slowly, turning his head as he did so, placing the softest, gentlest of kisses on his teacher's awaiting lips.

"Please," the boy breathed, pulling away slightly, eyes alight with passion and a silent plea. It was all the answer John needed.

He took Sherlock's hand, turning on his heel and pulling the boy behind him into the dimly-lit back room. He closed the door and flicked the lock behind them before turning again to face his pupil. Illuminated only by the yellow half-light of John's rickety floor lamp as opposed to the usual classroom fluorescents, the young man appeared more alluring than ever. John wasted no time, taking the boy's delightfully delicate lips for his own. He had never been with another man before, but his ex-girlfriends all told him he was an excellent lover, and he had never been more vehemently aroused in all his life. Sherlock's softness, the way he shivered at John's touch, drove him wild with lust. It was as if John alone had succeeded at penetrating the boy's icy-cold exterior, revealing the beautiful tenderness within.

John reached his tongue deep into Sherlock's throat, eliciting a loud moan from the boy. His erection rubbed enticingly against his pupil's slender thigh, and he began to grind his hips involuntarily against the boy's leg. The older man moved his lips downward, kissing the teenager's delicate jawline before sucking at the sensitive skin of his neck. Sherlock whimpered and let his head loll backward, hips thrusting forward as he did so. Suddenly, John felt Sherlock's hard groin against his own, and it was his turn to moan. Unthinking, he reached a hand down the boy's trousers, grasping his pupil's rigid shaft. Sherlock whimpered with pleasure as his teacher lightly trailed his fingers from hilt to head.

"Oh, please, Mr. Watson, sir," the boy breathed, breath catching in his throat. Sherlock's flushed cheeks, his eyes rolling back in ecstasy, the way he _begged _for it, left John dizzy with desire. He began working the boy's length, slowly at first, then with increasing urgency.

"_Yes_," Sherlock moaned headily, "oh, Christ, Mr. Watson, _yes_." John pumped harder, then, knowing the boy was close, deftly lowered his trousers and pants. He took Sherlock's long shaft in his mouth, massaging his pupil's balls in one hand as he worked the boy's length deep into his throat. Sherlock cried out in pleasure at the sensation, John's tongue making enticingly erotic circles around the tip of his shaft. He shuddered once and came, seed spilling down John's awaiting throat. His teacher swallowed greedily, savoring the taste of Sherlock coating his mouth.

He rose from his knees, locking eyes with the boy once more and smiling slightly. Sherlock returned the faintest of smiles, his expression bashful but his eyes twinkling with something like determination. He moved closer, hands rising to undo the top button on his teacher's collar. He worked his way down, finally removing the shirt completely, then pulling his own sweater up and over his head. The two men faced each other, bare-chested, breathing hard. John took in Sherlock's pale, sinewy flesh, lean muscles, and trail of fine black hairs leading down to his half-open trousers until he was utterly drunk with lust. The boy stared equally hard at John's stocky, well-defined frame. Suddenly, he crushed his teacher's bare chest against his own, sucking playfully at John's neck. John moaned with pleasure, surprised at the young man's audacity. Sherlock moved downward, taking each of John's pert nipples in his mouth, sucking and biting maddeningly. As he did so, his hands fumbled with John's belt, until he managed to tear the man's trousers and pants to the floor. He groaned with unbridled anticipation at the sight of John's erect shaft: slightly shorter than his own, but _much_ thicker.

In an unexpected move, John ripped Sherlock's undone trousers to the ground and cupped the boy's bare buttock in his hand, eyes twinkling deviously. Their naked groins ground together, then stopped, motionless yet throbbing with frenzied lust. Sherlock's body burned against his own, and a single shiver made its way down John's spine.

"Holmes," he spoke seductively into his pupil's ear, "you _did _say you wanted more… How did you put it… _Hands-on_ anatomy experience, did you not?"

"I did, sir," the boy replied, gulping instinctively, then went on. "And y-you, sir… You said you would supplement the course with more… _Stimulating _material for me, sir."

"I did, didn't, I?" John mused, cupping the Sherlock's buttock tighter, crushing his throbbing arousal into the boy's groin. The young man gasped as he felt his teacher's pre-cum wet against his bare thigh. "Well… Are you ready for your _supplementary_ lesson, Holmes?"

"Yes, sir… _Please, _sir," the boy whispered, lifting his gaze to meet his teacher's. Then seductively, into the older man's ear: "_Fuck me, _sir."

A carnal growl sprang from John's throat as he turned his pupil around roughly, leading the boy to his wooden desk. Sherlock clambered obediently up onto it, facing downward as he anticipated John's touch with an aroused whimper. John slicked his finger with a nearby tub of vaseline before placing it at the boy's tight entrance. He entered slowly, carefully, Sherlock gasping at the unfamiliar sensation. As his pupil's muscles relaxed, John inserted a second finger, slowly scissoring the hole until it was to his satisfaction. He positioned himself carefully before entering with one deft thrust. Sherlock cried out in pain and shock, before giving himself over to his teacher's slow thrusts. Finally, John's shaft met its mark.

"_FUCK, _YES!" the boy cried out in ecstasy. John's pounding built steadily in speed, hitting his pupil's sensitive prostitate directly with each new thrust. "_Fuck_, yes, sir… _Harder_, sir," Sherlock sputtered.

"Holmes, you naughty bastard," John breathed through gritted teeth, slamming the boy repeatedly into the wood of the desk with the force of his powerful shaft. "So… Damn… _Tight_."

John picked up the pace, hammering his pupil into erotic oblivion. Their bodies moved together at what had reached breakneck speed, pumping feverishly as they both neared the edge of utter bliss. Sherlock was the first to come, screaming his teacher's name as his seed sprayed all over the mahogany beneath him. John came soon after, filling the boy with his cum as they rode wave after wave of pleasure, bodies slumped together in a primal embrace.

After several long minutes, John lifted his torso from the desk, leaning over to kiss his young lover on the lips.

"Your time is up, you know," he spoke, rubbing Sherlock's back affectionately. Seeing the confused expression on the boy's face, he went on, "your punishment ended today, according to the headmaster. You don't have to work here anymore… If you don't want to." His eyes flitted to the boy's face, hoping to catch his reaction.

"But…" Sherlock replied slowly, his sculpted lips curling downward in a frown. "You _want _me, right? To stay, that is," he clarified quickly. John turned so his face was inches from the young man's, cupping Sherlock's pale cheeks in his hands, tracing those beautifully accentuated cheekbones with both thumbs.

"Sherlock," he replied gently, "I will _always _want you."

And for the third time, Sherlock smiled.


End file.
